Life After Gwen
by Mary J. Watson
Summary: (Sequel to RIP, MJ Watson) The blood spread across her breast like the most delicate rose, its deep scarlet petals blossoming across her chest, staining her blouse the further it spread. I began to panic as my hands pressed against the rose to crush it and keep its petals from blossoming. But this wasn't a rose. It was blood. And it was spurting from her chest at an alarming rate.
1. Preface: Part I

**Life After Gwen**

**Preface: **Part I

_Musing through memories,_  
_ Losing my grip in the grey._  
_ Numbing the senses,_  
_ I feel you slipping away._  
_ Fighting to hold on,_  
_ Clinging to just one more day_  
_ Love turns to ashes,_  
_ With all that I wish could say.._

_ I'd die to be where you are._  
_ I tried to be where you are._

Digital Daggers - "Still Here"

* * *

The blood spread across her breast like the most delicate rose, its deep scarlet petals blossoming across her chest, staining her blouse the further it spread. I began to panic as my hands pressed against the rose to crush it and keep its petals from blossoming. But this wasn't a rose. It was blood. And it was spurting from her chest at an alarming rate.

"P-Peter..." It was Gwen who was bleeding out in front of me. Her cherry lips gasped for air like a beached fish, eyes wide with fear. I began to scream her name as her blood squeezed through my closed fingertips. I stared down at my bare hands as they turned red from blood. Suddenly, they weren't my hands – they were Spider-Man's. I looked up and it wasn't Gwen who was dying in front of me… It was Mary Jane.

Every night, it was the same nightmare: Gwen dying a million, horrible deaths and always by my hands. Two weeks after she died, one week after her funeral, Mary Jane started appearing in my nightmares. The rational part of my brain told me that it was simply a reaction to the guilt I harbored from Gwen's death – the other part of my brain… the irrational part… told me it was an omen of Mary Jane's fate if she didn't untangle herself from my web.

After Gwen's death, Mary Jane refused to leave New York. She refused to leave my side. I know she meant well enough but every night, in the early hours of the morning, I would return to the apartment, bruised and broken from chasing and searching for the Green Goblin, and every night, without fail, I would find her fighting the throes of sleep, head bobbing, tiny body tucked into the corner of the living room sofa. It was in these moments that I became irrational – angry even.

"Why don't you just go home?" I called wearily from the kitchen as she pulled herself from the couch, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She shuffled over to where I stood.

"I made pancakes." She spoke softly from behind me as I opened the fridge and peered inside.

"For dinner?"

"I… I'm not a very good cook. It's the only thing I know how to make well-"

"Why don't you just go home?" I repeated my words, impatience showing plainly through. Every moment she spent in New York, she was in danger.

I peered into the fridge. There was nothing inside except for the small stack of leftover pancakes.

"…this _is_ my home…"

"No," I laughed bitterly as I stood upright, slamming the door of the fridge. Everything inside the fridge trembled audibly. I turned to face her. This was one of those irrational moments that I'm not very proud of. My battered face grew hot as I spewed venom from my mouth, "_This_ is _Gwen's_ home. _Not_ yours. Your home is in California."

Her demeanor didn't even change. Had she not heard the hurtful words I had just flung at her? She stood still for a moment, staring up into my angry face before finally side-stepping me and opening the fridge.

"I'll heat up the pancakes for you. Sit down at the table. It'll only take a second-" She was about to throw the pancakes into the microwave but I was already walking away from her, retreating into the dark cavern of my and Gwen's old bedroom.

Rage fuels the fire burning within my soul because being angry is better than the grief that threatens to tear me down at a moment's notice.

**I need to be angry to keep moving forward.**

I see nothing. I feel nothing. I'm a zombie whose only urge is to feed on the man who destroyed my life.

I _need_ revenge. I need it so badly that my body aches whenever I'm still for more than a moment. Sometimes, I hear Mary Jane crying in the room next to mine. My ears hear everything – even her soft pleas to God for my return to reason but her pleas fall on deaf ears for there is no such thing as "reason" for the unreasonable. The dead know no "reason," and neither shall I.

**_By God, I will have my revenge._**


	2. Preface: Part II

**Life After Gwen**

**Preface: **Part II

_My name is Peter Parker._

_I killed the woman I love-_

_I killed the woman I loved._

I had to put down my pen and look away from the notebook precariously balanced upon my knee. They were only words but they held so much power. These were the dark words, the guilty accusations, I repeated in my mind over and over again:

**"You killed Gwen Stacy."**

I looked back down at the notebook. It had been well past three A.M. when I finally came back to the apartment Gwen, Mary Jane and I had once shared. For the first time in two weeks, Mary Jane wasn't sitting on the couch waiting for me, her sleepy face creased with worry. She had left a notebook, _this_ notebook, on the kitchen table with a bright yellow sticky note on the front, her messy cursive scribbled across it, "I know you don't want to talk about it, and I won't push you but you've got to let it out somehow. We both do. P.S. More pancakes in the fridge." She knew I was suffering and I knew she was too… only, I couldn't find the heart or the energy to comfort her. Every fiber of my being was poured into finding the Green Goblin, and at the end of the day, I had nothing left to give.

I grabbed the piece of paper and ripped it from the spiral notebook, crumpling it in my hand and letting it cascade towards the city below. For a moment, I watched my crumpled accusations drift with the wind; the paper danced with the strong gust, alive with hope, only to begin its descent again with the dying wind. I sat perched on the corner of a tall skyscraper overlooking New York City. I used to always come to this spot – I called it my thinking spot, haha – but lately, I haven't been doing much thinking. Rather, I've been living off impulse… and what dark impulses they are.

Again, I took up my pen and began to write on the fresh piece of paper.

_My name is Peter Parker._

_The Green Goblin killed the woman I love… and God, how I miss her._

It was all I could write before the tears started pouring from my eyes. My mask began to flood and I had to pull it from my face to keep myself from drowning in the salty tears.

* * *

_My name is Mary Jane Watson._

_I've lost my best friend._

_My world is spiraling out of control and as much as I want to be brave, I'm scared. I'm so, so scared._

I slammed my pen down upon the spiral notebook as the first tear dropped from my eye and landed upon the paper. My words began to blur, inky black puddles accumulating on the crisp white paper.

It was two weeks after Gwen's death and I still hadn't left New York. While the director of the play I had been casted for was understanding of my situation, he still had to replace me with my understudy. The home Harry and I shared in California still had everything I'd ever owned and for all I knew, Harry was still lurking somewhere here in New York. After leaving him in the hotel room after he nearly overdosed two weeks ago, I hadn't heard from him… partly due to the fact that I had left my cell phone in the hotel room and hadn't bothered to get a new one. I liked being disconnected from the world. I liked being disconnected from Harry even more.

Peter was silently falling apart. Where I exploded, he imploded. I never saw him during the daytime _or_ the nighttime, only in the wee hours of the morning, the quiet time right before dawn. What frightened me most was the look in his eyes… His eyes were hollow. _Soulless._ Whenever I tried to speak to him, my words seemed to pass right through him without any comprehension of their meaning. He repeated over and over again, "Leave New York and go back home to California, Mary Jane," but what he didn't understand was that New York was my home. Gwen was gone, but Peter was still here and I had to do everything in my power to protect him… protect him like I hadn't protected Gwen.


	3. Chapter 1: One Year and Six Months Later

**Chapter One: **One year and six months later...

_"If you must die sweetheart, die knowing your life was my life's best part."_

Keaton Henson - _"_One"

* * *

Sometimes the past comes to me in snippets - brief flashes of light and sound of a life long forgotten. Other times, the past reappears in my dreams, hazy at first like pinpricks of sunlight shining through dense fog. In these dreams the past replays like a movie I know I've seen before but, for some reason, I hardly recognize the characters:

Gwen, a beautiful blonde with a smile that could warm the Antarctic faster than Global Warming.

Harry, a handsome, dashing man with piercing eyes, deep dimples and a crooked, devilish grin.

And Peter, a character I recognize more from the overwhelming feeling of regret that washes over me when he appears than I do by his tall, lanky frame or his unruly mop of chestnut-brown hair. Gwen and Harry are always smiling but never Peter. Peter appears out of place in these dreams - staring from afar, his wide brown eyes haunting me.

Despite the feeling of regret, the dreams are never unpleasant. These dreams - these _people_ - feel like home, yet I still wake with a peculiar emptiness coiling in the pit of my stomach. The feeling never lasts but it's enough to make me wonder throughout the day: if my life is one to be envied, what could possibly be missing to make me feel this way?

_"Mary Jane," Smoke filled the air and I choked against it as it slowly began to suffocate me. Someone was holding tight onto my arms, their fingers digging deep into the flesh of my bicep. "Mary Jane, hold on! I'm going to get you out of here." Despite the impending doom of suffocation via smoke inhalation, I felt calm, reassured by a familiar voice calling from the darkness. I nodded my head in the direction of the voice but the grey plumes of smoke were too thick for the man who held tight onto my arms to see it. The world was crashing down around us - sudden explosions illuminating the smoke as the building crumbled. The roar of the fire was deafening - a sound more awful and sinister than any I had ever heard._

"MJ, we're boarding soon."

I had been curled up in a hard plastic chair, staring out of the window at the airport's oversized tarmac when someone's words had brought me back to the present. I was bewildered at first - how could the terminal not be on fire? The memory had seemed _so_ real. I blinked hard at the face of the man smiling down at me as he patiently waited. He was handsome in an All-American way; blonde hair slicked back, tan skin, blue eyes, and a tall, imposing football player-esque build. He held two small carryon suitcases in his hands, seemingly waiting for me to stand up and follow him to the gate where a small line of people had gathered to board a plane.

"MJ," He spoke again, his blonde brow knitting together in concern. "Are you feeling okay?" I stared at his navy blue army uniform, the left breast of which was adorned by countless medals and badges. Upon his opposite breast was a name tag pinned into the uniform that read "JAMESON".

"John," I spoke his name out loud to dispel the fog plaguing my brain. I shook my head, laughing off my brief lapse in memory. "Of course! Never better." I stood beside my boyfriend, Colonel John Jameson and as we stood in line, shuffling closer to the gate that would lead to our plane leaving Florida for New York, I recounted every small event leading up to this moment. Some would have called mine and John's relationship a stroke of divine intervention, fate, or even serendipity... however, I simply referred to our meeting as proof of the Theory of Six Degrees of Separation. After fleeing New York, I knew I couldn't go back to California for fear of being found. If not sunny California then Florida would be the next best thing. In Florida, the acting scene was dead but where acting floundered, modeling flourished. Florida was a Mecca for photography. Miraculously, I was signed onto a modeling company after boldly walking into a random modeling agency nestled deep in the most pretentious part of South Beach Miami. After joking with the woman behind the front desk that I thought it was peculiar that her modeling agency was named after a car manufacturer, she still wanted to sign me. (...ever heard of Ford Modeling Agency? ...yes? Well, apparently I had been living under a rock.)

Through a girl I had met from a modeling gig, I met fellow New Yorker turned Floridian Colonel John Jameson, the only son of media mogul J. Jameson of the Daily Bugle. After a successful stint in the army, John's intelligence, strength, bravery and charm had landed him a position with NASA at Cape Canaveral, training as one of their newest astronaut recruits. Fast-forward one year and here we are - still dating (_miraculously_, given my track record for either flaking out on relationships or turning my significant other into a crazy loon) and both on our way to New York City for a large soiree John's father holds every year to celebrate the Daily Bugle's publication anniversary.

We board the plane and John lets me scoot by him to sit in the window seat because he knows how much I love watching the world below as we're flying. He's always doing little things like that - quietly marking in his memory the things I love in order to recall that information and use it every day. No lemons in her water, she hates that. Yellow roses make her nauseous, her bouquets mustn't contain any yellow roses. She blushes like a schoolgirl when you open her car door for her, or pull out the chair for her before she sits down for dinner - always do that. All of my strange likes and idiosyncrasies, he remembers all of them without fail. I suppose that means he really loves me.

The plane begins to pull away from the gate. Slowly, it pulls out onto the tarmac then waits its turn to ascend into the sunny skies. It's engines roar as it jettisons down the tarmac. I welcome the force of gravity pressing against my body, keeping my body firmly planted against the seat. The world in the window is rushing by as a blur of color. The force of gravity increases and for a moment it's hard to breathe but then, like magic, the plane lifts into the air and relief comes rushing over my body. Without another word, I lean my cheek against the window and stare off into the clouds.

_"I won't let you die in here! Do you hear me? We're going to get out of this." I hardly heard him over the sound of the building collapsing around us. There was fire everywhere - its hungry flames licking at his body as he curled it around mine in a feeble attempt to protect me. I was crying now; Death was at our doorstep and crying seemed like the natural reaction in a circumstance like this, but it was too hot for even tears to sit upon my cheeks._

_"Hold onto me, Mary Jane." He looped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. I gripped onto his suit, the rippling muscles beneath it tense and poised for action. Suddenly we were running through the fire. We ran sideways - his body shielding mine as we cut through the fire. He was running so quickly, my feet hardly touched the ground. _

_Somewhere deep within the fire behind us, I heard the sound of a jet engine. Someone's laughter, maniacal and sinister, cut through the air and sent deep pangs of fear shooting through my spine. _

_An explosion behind us sent us flying through a crumbling wall. How he reacted so quickly, I don't know, but somehow as we catapulted through the air he was wrapped around me - a human shield against the scalding fire. When I opened my eyes, we were in open air and beginning our freefall from the burning building we had just escaped._

* * *

Every night, my sleep is plagued by nightmares. I welcome these nightmares - embrace them as old friends. You see, nightmares are my only chance of seeing Gwen and even though I wake up with a wet face covered in tears, I relish these moments where I see her face again. After a long string of nightmares in which I relived Gwen's death, I began to dream night after night of my last meeting with Mary Jane... a meeting that almost ended in her own demise one year and six months ago...

Repeatedly, I had asked her to leave New York. After Gwen's death, I feared Mary Jane would be next. Characteristically stubborn, she refused. I knew she worried about me but I was so caught up in seeking revenge against the Green Goblin to care. Her presence in New York spurred my revenge even further. I _had_ to find the Green Goblin before he found Mary Jane - before he could finish his original plan of destroying her because of Harry. I had been gone from the apartment for three nights; three sleepless nights in which I sat perched high above the city, looking and listening for any sign of the Green Goblin. At the end of the third night, I gave up and returned to the apartment Gwen, Mary Jane and I had once shared. Little did I know, the Green Goblin had been watching me from a safe distance. He followed me back to the alleyway beside the apartment building and after I had changed out of my Spider-Man suit, he watched me walk into the apartment building. Rather than protecting Mary Jane, I led the enemy straight to her.

And then it all happened so quickly... I had just stepped into the apartment and locked the door behind me when I heard a soft, muffled cackle from behind it. Recognizing the Green Goblin's sinister laugh, I turned around and threw the door open. ...But no one was there... Was the lack of sleep making me delusional? I doubted my senses but when my Spider-Sense finally kicked in, I knew he had found us. In an attempt to protect my identity (an attempt that I now realize was futile as he had already discovered who I was), I quickly shed my street clothes and pulled on my mask. It was well past three in the morning. Mary Jane would be home, sleeping in her bed and when I realized this, I began to run towards her bedroom. That's when the first bomb detonated and the front door was blasted in.

He was upon me in milliseconds.

"Give up, Spider-Man!" He held me pinned against the wall, his gloved fingers dug deep into my arms. I grimaced for a moment as sharp metal claws suddenly jutted from his gloved fingertips and plunged deep into the sinew and flesh of my limbs. My agonizing screams nearly drowned out his taunts, "You can't win against _me_!"

Unlike my past adversaries, the Green Goblin learned from his opponents - namely _me_. He possessed the brain of a scientist and each movement, every defense and offense was recorded and stored away into his brain to be used against me in the future. Where I was once calculatory in my actions, rage made me unstable, hasty and irrational. Where a scientist was all reason, I was the scientist's antithesis.

There was just enough space between our bodies. I drew my knees to my chest then firmly placed the bottom of my boots against his chest and kicked him backwards. Unprepared, his body flew across the living room and collided with the opposite wall, old bricks crumbling around his slumped body as he tumbled. Blood dripped from the puncture wounds in my arms but I felt nothing save for immense fury. I stalked forward, my footsteps heavy against the wood floor.

"Why!" I stood over his slumped body, screaming my words with enough force that spittle flew from my lips, "Why Gwen?! Why her?" I shoved the toe of my boot into the Green Goblin's highly mechanized suit. The metal suit creaked and bent where my toes had slammed into it but he remained unresponsive.

Suddenly, time slowed down. The base of my skull began to pulse as my Spider-Sense began to sound the alarm. The Green Goblin's fingers were twitching to life. Mary Jane's soft, sleepy voice was calling from behind us. It all happened in slow motion: I turned my head away from the Green Goblin to tell her to run but before I could even open my mouth, he had plucked from his side a titanium pumpkin the size of a fist and in one swift movement, had thrown it into the air. I knew the explosive capabilities of that tiny weapon and before it could be detonated, I snatched it from the air, reached as far back as I could then catapulted it towards a window. It broke the glass panes within the window and just as it had exited the building, it exploded. The entire building rocked from the force of the explosion.

Time sped up again.

"Mary Jane! **GO!**" I screamed for her to leave as I grappled with the Green Goblin. She tried to run but the Green Goblin's strength overcame mine and he threw me easily to the side in order to run across the room and grab her before she could escape. I jumped to my feet and shot a web around his arm. I widened my stance to brace myself then began to pull on the line, drawing him away from her. She was screaming, desperately fighting against him. He was laughing, taking pleasure in her distress with a demented sense of enjoyment. I pulled harder and although he fought against me, the webbing held strong and his movements became stifled enough for Mary Jane to escape his grasp. As soon as she had begun to run, the Green Goblin pulled on the webbing hard enough to send me flying through the air. I landed easily, crouched on all fours. I jumped back up and threw myself at him. The apartment was on fire now. There was no getting out through the front door as the flames from the first explosion were too large, their angry tongues lapping at the ceiling of the apartment. Mary Jane turned and ran back into her bedroom in an attempt to escape via the Fire Escape outside her window.

While the Green Goblin and I wrestled across the floor, another pumpkin bomb was loosed from his arsenal. The bomb must have gone off too close to me because I hardly remember the moments immediately afterwards - one minute I had been wrestling the Green Goblin, throwing punches into his metal mask, listening hungrily for the sound of bone crunching beneath the mask, rage strengthening me beyond anything I could have imagined... and the next minute, I was thrown across the room, slumped against a wall, the apartment burning down around me like a tinder box. Smoke filled the air and although I tried to stir my limbs, they stubbornly refused movement. When I thought all was lost, Mary Jane was suddenly kneeling beside me.

"Go, Mary Jane. Leave." I spoke as loud as I could but my voice was weak. "You have to get out of here."

"Not without you." She pushed her long red locks from her face then grabbed my arm and began to drag me across the floor, carefully dodging the growing flames. I was too heavy for her. She refused to give up but her pace was slow and I feared for her. Where was the Green Goblin? Had the explosion knocked him out as well? Had he fled or was he hiding in the thickening smoke? My body was already beginning to heal - the supersonic healing processes a byproduct of the radioactive spider-bite - and I mustered enough strength to stop her and crawl to my feet.

The apartment was quickly burning down. Flames had sprung up all around us and we were surrounded. The thick smoke piled up and Mary Jane began to cough as it started to slowly suffocate her.

"Mary Jane," Through the smoke, I caught a glimpse of her face - so afraid like a little child, eyes wide with fear. I gripped her arms, holding tighter than I should have. "Mary Jane, hold on! I'm going to get you out of here." My words calmed her and she nodded her head, long strands of her red hair falling into her face.

As pieces of the apartment collapsed around us, the floor shook. I could no longer see her face but nonetheless, I kept talking as I formulated a plan.

"I won't let you die in here! Do you hear me? We're going to get out of this." The flames were growing. I curled my body around hers in an attempt to protect her. Her body was trembling and I knew she was crying. I tried to move us forward but a wall of flames forced us back into our original position. I loosened an arm from around her shoulders and tried to shoot out a webline but the webbing immediately melted. There was no plan - we were simply going to have to wing it.

"Hold onto me, Mary Jane." I looped my arm around her waist then pulled her close to me. Her small hands gripped my suit. Again, my Spider-Sense sounded the alarm. I was running sideways through the fire, my body shielding her's as we ran blindly, hopeful that my sense of navigation was carrying us towards an outside wall and _not_ deeper into the burning building. Somewhere deep within the fire behind us, the sound of a jet engine began to rumble above the crackle of fire. I recognized the mechanical hum as the Green Goblin's Flyer and I knew he was somewhere close behind us. He began to laugh. I began to run faster, holding Mary Jane tight to my side.

One final explosion and we were sent hurtling. As our feet lifted from solid ground, I pulled her against me and tried my best to protect her from the flames. My back slammed into a wall but it was so weakened by the fire that we instantly broke through. As moonlight shone upon our smoky faces, I tightened one arm around her waist and shot out a webline with my free arm. Within moments, we were blocks away from the burning building, swinging further and further away.

This would be the last time I held her in my arms. In a series of heartbreaking moments, moments so heartbreaking that even my torturous psyche normally spared me from repeating in my nightmares, I forced Mary Jane from the only home she had ever known. I forced her away from the Green Goblin and _myself_. She fought like Hell against me but I had expected that from her. I had no choice - I took her across town to La Guardia Airport and when we arrived and I had stood her onto her feet, she stared up into my face with a look of utter confusion.

"Why are we here?" She spoke softly and although she asked the question, it was apparent she already knew the answer.

"You can't be here anymore." I steeled my nerves, willing myself to stay strong. "It's too dangerous for you. The Green Goblin won't stop until he kills you and I _can't_ let that happen -" My voice was undulating as tears began to fill my eyes. "I _can't _lose you too, Mary Jane. Please, _please_ don't argue with me."

"No," She was beginning to grow angry, indignant despite my good intentions. "You can't just send me away against my will! Spider-Man, I'm not leaving New York. Gwen died and God, how I miss her," Her eyes became momentarily glassy when Gwen's name passed across her lips. "But I want to be here. I want to help yo-"

I quickly cut her off. "You can _'help'_ by getting the Hell out of here! The Green Goblin is too strong for me, can't you see that?" I began to raise my voice out of desperation, "He overpowers and outwits me every single time! I couldn't protect Gwen and I sure as Hell can't protect you!"

Her bottom lip began to quiver and with it, my resolve completely dissolved. "I can't lose you too, Mary Jane. Please," I plead with her, taking her trembling body into my arms. I bit down on my lip to keep myself from sobbing out loud, "I can't lose you too. I can't... I just _can't._"

While there was usually more to this particular memory, the alarm on my phone cut it short and I was catapulted back to the present - one year and six months later. I rolled off the battered couch I called a bed and shuffled to the cell phone that laid on the floor. Flashing across the screen in bold letters was a reminder as to why I was being woken too early in the morning:

**"Take pictures for Daily Bugle Anniversary Party."**


	4. Chapter 2: Welcome Home

**Chapter Two:** Welcome Home

_"Does he know who you are?  
Does he laugh, just to know what he has?_

Does he know not to talk about your dad?  
Does he know when you're sad you don't like to be touched, let alone kissed.

Do you know your lip shakes when you're mad?  
And do you notice when you're sad you don't like to be touched, let alone kissed.

Does his love make your head spin?"

Keaton Henson - "You Don't Know How Lucky You Are"

* * *

The plane was hovering somewhere over the sparse forests surrounding the city of New York. I had fallen asleep to the rhythmic humming of the engines when the pilot's calm voice over the intercom pulled me from a sleep so deep even dreams couldn't reach me.

"As we make our approach and subsequent descent into La Guardia Airport, we may experience some higher than normal turbulence-"

I turned my face to the window. The skies were clear and sunny except for an area directly above the city where an angry cloud loomed high above the tallest skyscrapers, spitting out fist-sized raindrops. Thunder shook the plane, briefly drowning out the sound of the jet engines.

"For that reason, I will be turning on the Fasten Seatbelts sign. As always, we here at Delta Airlines thank you-"

I clicked the seatbelt into place then turned and stared out of the window at the city quickly approaching.

If I had known that this storm was any indicator of the way my life was about to turn, I never would have stepped off that plane.

Or, _perhaps,_ if I had known how it would all pan out, I would have returned sooner.

* * *

"PARKER!"

That voice - booming across the expansive ballroom - sent every decorator, chef and party planner scurrying. After six years of working for J.J. Jameson, that voice of his had lost its power over me - but that wasn't to say it didn't still grate against my last remaining threads of patience.

"PARKER!"

I turned around. Standing at the other side of a ballroom as long as a football field, J.J. Jameson stood scowling in my direction, a cigar dangling from his lips. When we made eye contact, he began to walk towards me.

"You can't wear that!"

I pretended that I couldn't hear him. I cocked my head towards him then cupped my ear, "Huh? What'd you say?"

"You can't wear that!" He shouted so loud that the veins in his temples bulged.

"I can't be here? Well, geeze, J.J., I can go home, if you want." I pretended to look at my watch. "It's still early. If I leave now maybe I can catch the end of the Big Bang Theory-"

"NO!" He was close enough for me to smell the reeking cigar he was now puffing angrily. "This is an upscale event, Parker! You can't wear _that_."

And by "_that_", he was referring to my torn up blue jeans, Nikes and mismatched buttoned up shirt. I feigned innocence as I glanced down at my civilian threads.

"What? This? But I thought you said you needed me to dress up nice." I tried to keep from laughing at his red face by wholeheartedly pretending to be offended. "I mean, I wore the Nikes just for _you_!"

"You're lucky you're a good photographer, Parker," He waved his cigar at me, plumes of smoke swirling into the air above us. I watched the plumes of smoke, spellbound by the sight of them. The nightmare of Mary Jane came back to me suddenly - The memory of it all, strong enough to nearly knock me onto my ass. "You! Take this oaf and find him a suit."

I shook my head to shake the nightmare from my mind just in time for an older woman to loop her arm around mine and begin to pull me away from the ballroom.

"Is he always that mean?" The older woman ducked her head as she spoke, whisking me down the hallway and further away from the ballroom.

"Who? J.J.?" I smiled down at her and when she nodded, I laughed, "You should see him on a bad day!"

She ushered me into a large room full of decorations. She motioned to a younger woman who stood knee-deep in tablecloths. "Ruthie, darling. Take this gentleman's measurements then call Frank and tell him we need another tux, per Mr. Jameson's request."

The older woman left and Ruthie immediately went to work. I stood like a scarecrow as she began taking my measurements.

"Pretty big party Mr. Jameson is throwing, huh?" Ruthie asked as she worked with her roll of measuring tape. She was a pretty enough girl with dirty blonde hair and large brown doe eyes that constantly darted to the side whenever we made eye contact.

"He throws this over-the-top party every year."

She giggled, "This one is supposed to be the biggest and most expensive one he's thrown yet!" She kneeled and began to measure the inseam of my jeans. Uncomfortably, I stared at the far wall. "It might just be a rumor but I heard his son is coming into town and he's bringing a girl."

"About time." Though I hardly knew him, I knew enough _about _him. Where tabloids still loved to slander Spider-Man, they had loved to paint him as the All-American Hero - a brave soldier whom had retired from the army after successfully rescuing the lives of twenty of his comrades in Iraq. J.J. gloated about his son's achievements every chance he got. I wasn't jealous (okay, maybe a little...) but it always struck me as ironic that while he praised his son for saving twenty lives, he slandered Spider-Man for saving hundreds... but alas, I digress. "I'm sure J.J.'s thrilled."

"So, you're a photographer?"

"How'd you know?" My eyebrows rose at her question., immediately on the defensive. My tone must have come across as accusatory because she suddenly clammed up.

"Um," She tapped on the camera dangling from my neck. "Kind of obvious."

"...right." The rest of our conversation died and she took my measurements in uncomfortable silence. It had been obvious in the way she batted her eyelashes and blushed when we made eye contact that she was interested in me but it didn't matter - it never mattered anymore. I let the silence span on.

When she was done, she stepped away from me and told me that someone would come get me once the tuxedo had arrived. I bumbled through a lame attempt at a thank you then ambled back to the ballroom. In the short amount of time I had been gone, the ballroom had filled with hundreds of tables. Half of the tables had been set with tablecloths and extravagant centerpieces consisting of gargantuan vases filled with water, orchids and twinkling lights. I had just begun to take photos of the centerpieces when a man tapped on my shoulder.

"You Peter Parker?" He held a tuxedo wrapped in plastic in his hand.

"You must be Frank." I stood upright and took the tuxedo from him.

He glanced at my current attire and smirked. "Nikes?"

I grimaced then shrugged my shoulders. "I'm making a fashion statement."

Frank didn't say another word. He simply shook his head at my folly, the both of us knowing full well what Jameson would do if he saw my fashion blunder at **his** shin-dig. At this point, I can't say I cared. Frank walked away and I walked out of the ballroom and down the hallway to a bathroom where I changed into the tuxedo. I emerged from the stall and looked at myself in the mirror.

"Damn," The bright red and dark blue of my Spider-Man suit was easily seen through the fine fabric of the white dress shirt. I buttoned the collar then pulled the tuxedo jacket closed and buttoned it as well. Luckily for me, the jacket covered the majority of the dress shirt. A bowtie was still dangling from the hanger. "No way, Jameson. I'm not putting that thing on." I tossed the bowtie into the trashcan and walked back into the ballroom, camera dangling around my neck, Nikes squeaking against the freshly waxed marble tiles.

It was almost time.

* * *

"What are you thinking about?"

John's words brought me back to the present. I had been staring out of the window of the rented Rolls Royce - taking in as much of New York as much as I could. I turned to him and smiled when he spoke.

"Nothing." I replied simply, the corners of my painted ruby lips turning up.

"Oh, come on, I know you. You're always thinking of something." He spanned the distance across the leather bench seat we sat upon to gently grab my hand. "Are you nervous?"

I nearly laughed at his words, "Why would I be nervous?"

"Nervous to meet my father. He can be intimidating at first so it's okay if you're nervous but I just want you to know, he's going to love you." His voice dropped to a soft whisper, "People can't help but love you, MJ."

I rolled my eyes and laughed nervously. He knew better than to use that word. The ever-attentive John had learned early on that "love" was a word he could never use with me and yet, here it was, dangling in the air between us. The air seemed heavier; weighty with all of the loving confessions he had held inside of him since the day he'd first met me.

"I know who your father is. I've heard the rumors about him but trust me, I've dealt with scarier men than J.J. Jameson."

John's eyebrow cocked as his curiosity peaked from the allusion in my words. "Sometimes I feel like you had a double life and I know absolutely nothing about it." He laughed a short, defeated little laugh. "Like, I know the woman you are now but I get the feeling you were a different person before we met. I understand privacy but-"

I stared down into my lap, eyes fixed on the intricate red lace of my gown. I shifted in my seat, anxiety oozing from my pores. John didn't talk about his feelings. He didn't talk about unpleasant things. He was always cordial and polite, tip-toeing over subjects that made others feel uncomfortable. He had never asked about my past life in New York. If he had known about any correlation between myself and Spider-Man, the vigilante his father despised with an ever-mounting vehemence, he never spoke of it. What had gotten into him? Why was he suddenly being so careless with his words? I began to grow more nervous as we approached The Edison Ballroom where The Daily Bugle's anniversary party was being thrown. I had agreed to meet his father... I owed him that much... but what if this meeting was something more than that?

We were stuck in the traffic caused by the party. Even from this distance, I could see the thick crowd of paparazzi lining the entrance to the ballroom. Police officers were directing traffic and as we waited, my stomach began to churn. I didn't like paparazzi. I hated the way they shouted their questions at you while shoving the lens of their camera into your face. They were always rude and more often than not, they left you feeling naked, stripped of everything in sight. My celebrity paled in comparison to John's. He had graced more magazine covers than even me (...which was easy to do since I hadn't graced a single magazine cover in, well... EVER!) I was a relative no one compared to him and for now, I was okay with that. Since meeting him, I had gone to great lengths to make sure the media didn't catch wind of our relationship. Why? Simply because I wanted to gain success by my own means - not because of the person I was dating. When John had asked me to come with him to New York for his father's party, my sense of duty to him had overshadowed my wariness of the media and now I was inwardly freaking out. In a few minutes, the entire world would know about John Jameson: All-American Hero, and MJ Watson: Relative Nobody.

"Pour me a drink, please." I eyed the small bar built into the wall separating the main car from the chauffeur's cabin. It was an odd request since I rarely drank hard liquor and John seemed to be thoroughly caught off-guard by it.

"Um, okay..." He leaned forward and reached for a crystal bottle of Cognac. "Do you want ice?"

Once he had poured the Cognac, I nearly snatched the glass from his hands. "No. I mean," I smiled sweetly, "No, thank you." Before he could notice the brown liquid splashing in my glass from my trembling hands, I downed the entire glass. He stared at me, eyes wider than normal.

The vehicle had pulled up to the ballroom. I shrugged my shoulders and as coy as could be, winked and spoke, "What, John? It's a party, isn't it?"

My car door opened and suddenly the world was awash with flashing lights. I became a different woman - Grace Kelly in the flesh, demurely sauntering down the red carpet beside America's beloved hero. It was only thirty seconds with the paparazzi but by the time we had crossed through the threshold of the long hallway leading to the ballroom my heart was pounding and little pools of sweat were accumulating in the armpits of my expensive dress.

"Go ahead into the ballroom, John. I'm going to use the restroom then I'll be right there."

He paused. "Do you want me to wait for you?"

I waved him on, laughing softly. "I'll be alright. Go ahead. I'll be right there."

He nodded his head, a faint smile playing upon his lips. "You look beautiful."

His words were so heartfelt that for a moment, I felt the air being pulled from my lungs. Before I could reply, he had turned on his heels and was walking towards the ballroom. A live band was playing old jazz favorites but I could still hear the uproar from the large party as soon as John walked in. I turned and walked down the hallway back to the bathrooms.

I stood in front of a gilded full-length mirror. My stomach was churning, heart racing, sweat beading down my forehead. My makeup was beginning to slide from my face. I pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser above the sink and began to hastily blot the sweat from my face in a desperate attempt to salvage the makeup.

"You owe him this much, MJ." I spoke to my reflection as I blotted the sweat. "He's been good to you - you owe him this much."

I kept saying it over and over again. You owe him. You owe him for being a good man to you. It was a mantra I repeated with the hopes of steeling my nerves enough to walk confidently into the ballroom by myself but it never happened - I was still just as nervous as I walked out of the bathroom as I had been when I walked in.

The jazz music grew louder the further I walked down the long hallway. I could hear hundreds of people talking and laughing. Glasses were clinking, forks chiming as they scraped against dinner plates. I passed through a giant's archway and suddenly, I was in a room larger than any I had ever seen. Hundreds of people filled the room, waiters carrying mammoth silver trays squeezing between them. On the outside, I appeared calm but on the inside, I was a nervous wreck. I stayed to the outside wall, melting into the crowd. When a waiter passed by with a flute of champagne, I snagged it and hastily chugged it down. My body was beginning to feel warm and with it, the bite of anxiety ebbed.

Somehow, I found myself at a long buffet table covered in rich desserts. I stood there for a moment, staring at the intricate treats but too nervous to stomach any of them. Close by, a light suddenly flashed and I looked up. A tall man stood in the crowd, taking photos of the guests. He was dressed in a tuxedo but he wore Nikes - an observation that made me giggle. He held the camera to his face as he took photos and I stared at his unruly chestnut hair, unable to look away. There was something about him, something about the way he moved that had captured my attention and I was unable to tear my gaze from him.

"There you are!" John passed between us, obscuring my view of the photographer and effectively breaking me free from the spell I was unable to shake myself from. "I've been looking all over the place for you."

"I'm sorry -" I smiled up into his face then raised my second flute of champagne. "I found champagne _and_ desserts!"

He laughed then began to move with me through the crowd. "My father is over here. I'd like for you to meet him." I let him lead me through the crowd and up a grand marble staircase to a landing that overlooked the entire ballroom. There, surrounded by a handful of men smoking cigars, stood J.J. Jameson. When he saw his son, he immediately dashed out his own cigar and walked to us.

"Dad, this is her." He smiled proudly, as though I were a trophy kill he had just brought home from an African safari. "_This_ is MJ Watson."

"My dear," The old man took my hand into his own, engulfing it between his two palms. I felt suddenly trapped, as though his hands were not hands but a claw-like beartrap. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you. I've heard so many things about you."

I laughed in an attempt to make light of the situation, "Nothing bad, I hope."

"Absolutely not." John spoke up from my side. Something in his face caused my heart to drop into the pit of my stomach. His father dropped my hand and John took it. When his father turned and motioned for the band to quiet down, my knees began to knock. I could feel the entire ballroom shift to stare up at us as we stood on the landing at the top of the staircase.

This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not now.

"MJ Watson," John kneeled onto one knee and the ballroom full of hundreds of New York's wealthiest socialites inhaled in one unanimous and giddy gasp. He held my hands cupped in his own and if they hadn't been, I might have run away. "I've loved you since the day I met you and I will love you until the day I die. Please make me the happiest man in the world by becoming my wife." He dropped my hands and from his back pocket, fetched a little black box. He opened it and nestled into a little cushion was a diamond ring.

I was trapped. He had trapped me into saying yes or making a fool out of him. My mind raced. I couldn't humiliate him. He didn't deserve that.

I did the only thing I could do and after gulping down hard against the knot forming in my throat, I meekly whispered the one phrase that had haunted me since I was a little girl:

"Yes," I began to tremble. "I'll marry you."

The crowd erupted as John pulled the ring from the cushion and slipped it onto my left ring finger. I stood there, stunned. My left hand suddenly felt heavy - too heavy for me to lift. Why was the room spinning? What was going on? In his triumphant joy, John tossed the ring's box into the cheering crowd then spun around and grabbed me. He dipped me down and kissed me hard upon the lips.

"Parker!" Jameson was shouting as John kissed me. "Parker! Get a picture! Stop standing there like an idiot and do your job!"

My blood ran cold in my veins. Behind my closed eyelids I saw a flash of light. John broke the kiss then stood me upright and for a moment, I was afraid to look up. I was afraid of what, or rather _who_, I would see standing in front of us.

"Get together, love birds." Jameson beamed, motioning for us to stand together. "This one's for the Daily Bugle."

John put his arm around my shoulders and when I looked up, I felt like I was in one of my dreams.

The unruly-haired man was standing in front of us, camera lens blocking his face. I stared at him through the lens, willing him to look at me in the face. Slowly, he lowered the camera until it dangled limp around his neck.

"Congratulations, Mary Jane."

It was too much for me to handle. The past that I had been trying so desperately to bury was, quite **literally**, staring me in the face and my brain couldn't process it. My world was spinning.

I fainted and Peter Parker's face was the last thing I saw.


End file.
